Demons Galore
by Plastic Paranoia
Summary: When your future is determined by your past, when your life is defined by taking responsibility for others, when your path is set by darker powers, what will it take for you to change your ways?


**Episode 1. Part 1**

You never know what might be around the next corner. It might be a ghost or a demon or a whatever. But whatever it was that might be waiting or them, it was evil. That was the only thing they could be sure of, always.

And they were sure of this again—which was basically the only thing they were sure of right now. They had fucked the researches up this time, which was the other thing that was for sure. They had been so sure that a ghost was haunting this small-town that consisted of nothing more than a few old weather-beaten houses by a road in the middle of nowhere. All the evidence, all the facts they had gathered from the internet and newspaper articles and from the shabby archive in the next, slightly bigger town, all of this had said "ghost" clearly; it had said "Robert Lee Masterson stuck around this shitty town to terrorize those who terrorized him when he was still alive and a weak, pimply teenager who preferred kissing boys to kissing girls." They, both, would have sworn that it was him. Actually, yesterday, they had. And they had done the usual, which was the always annoying going to the local cemetery at night with shovels and gasoline and matches. Opening graves and burning corpses was never fun, but it sucked even more if you found out that you did it for nothing the next day. The fucking ghost had attacked again last night on the other side of the town, while they had burned poor Bobby's leftovers in the pouring rain. What a waste of time, gasoline and muscle-power!

Till now the ghost hadn't killed anybody. He had "only" hurt people. If that was actually a comforting thought was debatable. You never knew what was going on inside a ghost's mind; he might change it any moment and decide that broken bones weren't enough anymore, but that it was finally time to take some lives.

But right now wasn't the right moment for contemplating thoughts like these. Actually, this wasn't the right moment for any thoughts at all. Right now they couldn't think, they had to act—against whoever or whatever it was that was around this next corner. From the sounds it was making right now, the next minutes wouldn't be very pleasurable. Their backs against the wall, Dean on the right of the door, Sam on the left, they both tightened the grips on their guns. Dean's jaw was clenched as he met Sam's intense gaze. Concentration was reflecting in their eyes, and respect for whatever was waiting from them in the next room; their strained nerves mixing with adrenaline that was always pumping before each battle was visible in their faces, in their postures. Suddenly, a yell rang in their ears. It came from the next room, flew through the door they had positioned next to. It had the power to make skins crawl, to bring the hairs on your neck and everywhere else up. It was goose-bump creating; a whimpered scream merging with a sobbed cry to one pitiful, nerve-wrecking sound.

And that was it. That was the signal for them that it was more than time. Simultaneously, the brothers nodded at each other. And just as simultaneously, they pushed themselves away from the wall and shot around, to the gaping hole in the wall that was the door. Their guns entered first as the boys held them high. Their arms were stretched, their right hands holding on to their weapons tightly while their lefts secured them, holding them steady and making it easier for them to aim—at whatever was waiting for them in there.

It was a girl.

She stood in the middle of the cubical room, on the old wooden floor that creaked under the heavy boots of the boys, who now entered. Carefully, they walked. Dean took the lead, but Sam followed closely behind. Their knees were bent slightly, while their arms were still stretched as they headed toward the girl, fixating her with calculating eyes. She was tiny—probably not even reaching five feet two—and petite. Her skin seemed pale against her dark hair, which was flowing around her delicate face with the full lips and the big eyes. She looked like a porcelain doll, fragile and harmless. But the Winchesters had learned to never fall for looks. Looks had deceived them more that once; it was just another saying proven true in the demon hunting business: Never judge a book by its cover.

And especially not, when the eyes of this harmless doll were pure darkness. She seemingly had no pupils, no irises were visible, there was just reflecting black shining within reddened white. A smile showed on her face. It held no humor at all; evilness and aggression lay in this smile, it made you shiver in displeasure as a hot jolt followed by a cold one raced through your body—and the fact that it showed on such a sweet face made it even worse.

"I've been waiting for you." Her voice—which wasn't female or even human, but which sounded like a deep growl of hatred—was shocking, but the fact that she was addressing them was even worse. A ghost hardly addressed the living. Mostly they couldn't, which was one of the main problems when it came to ghost-busting: These things just couldn't tell anybody what was bothering them, why they were so haunted that they haunted everybody else. Dean and Sam, they had both had their share of run-ins with the spooking, but so far only one of them had talked to them—and it had only managed one word, which had strained it enough as it is; but this fucking thing right here obviously wanted a conversation. That was bad, because that—and the black eyes, of course—proved that this girl opposite to them was no ghost, but a fucking demon. And this had to lead to the conclusion that the salt-bullets their guns were loaded with were entirely useless.

Still, the boys were professional enough to keep their faces from slipping. You didn't survive this long in this business, if you let a little mischance like this ruin your cool. They just continued to carefully head toward the demon-girl, spreading out in the room with the dark red, old-fashioned wallpapers that were partly falling off the walls, while taking their opponent into their middle. The brothers didn't have to look at each other to know that it would be Dean who would react vocally. He brought his trade-mark smirk to his face. "Yeah, sweetheart, most girls do."

The boys were circling the girl, who was standing absolutely still, right there in the middle of the room next to the old-fashioned furniture made of artistically, detailed carved dark wood and upholstered with dark green cloths with golden threads weaved into it. The Winchesters knew instinctively what they would do now. They both knew that Dean would continue talking, distracting the demon, while Sam dug his brain for a way to kill it, get rid off it now that their brilliant plan of "keeping the ghost at bay to find out who it really is whose grave we have to dig open" had just fallen to pieces.

Till now at least the distraction-part of the plan was working. Because even though the demon was not looking at any of the boys but still staring ahead motionlessly, it was reacting to Dean's remark with its voice vibrating unnaturally in the boys' ears. "I am not most girls."

"I can see that."

The evil smirk was still there. "I am better than all."

"And very humble, I see."

A humorless laugh left the female lips. "You were at the wrong part of town last night. You burned useless bones." She nearly spat the next word. "Pitiful!"

Okay, she had hit a nerve there. Out of the corner of his eyes Dean saw that Sam's eyes were scanning the room hectically, that he was searching for something useful in this hole filled with rubbish from the beginning of the previous century. But Dean didn't dare to look away from the girl. "But throwing old ladies down stairs is hardcore, you think? If something is pitiful, it's your acts of evil. I dealt with guys who could do some real damage. Not this softy shit you're doing."

This time it took the demon some time to answer. Dean thought he saw some hesitation on the delicate female face, he thought he saw anger for half a second, before the face turned entirely even again. "You should not underestimate my power." Now the blood-red lips twisted into an evil smirk. "That might kill you."

"No, we will kill you," Dean threatened as Sam stood near the fireplace now, looking at it thoughtfully.

"Like you killed the demon that killed your mother?!"

Anger welled up inside Dean, he tightened his grip on his gun, fighting the urge to pull the trigger, because there just was no use in doing his. His jaw was clenched, his curved lips were tightly pressed together.

An unnatural chuckle crawled out of the demon's throat. "Oh, I see, I hit a nerve there."

Dean's face was still stressed, his muscles were tightened. "How do you know?"

"How could I not know?"

"Was it you?"

The unnatural, evil laugh again. "Me?! No, it wasn't me. I just admire good work, that's-" Suddenly, the demon fell silent. It left the sentence unfinished, and instantly the atmosphere filling the room changed. Dean frowned as he tipped his head to the side slightly, observing the small frame in front of him closely, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him, unsure, if he was really feeling what he was feeling or if he was seeing things.

But then he really saw it, and there wasn't the slightest doubt. It looked as if his vision was blurring when suddenly the demon's body seemed to shift. It was like it was dividing into two, shaking left and right, unable to focus while black dust wavered around the distorting form. And suddenly, for the first time since the boys had entered the room, the demon looked at him directly—and it was, in fact, a girl. Her eyes were no longer black and worrying, but brown and fearful. And, suddenly, there wasn't a demon, a beast from hell, staring at him but a fragile looking girl—not even as tall as five feet two—who looked at him with her eyes swimming in tears of fear. "Please," she addressed him now, looking at him pleadingly, her voice sounding female and human and haunting. "Help me. I can't-"

This time it was her not being able to finish the sentence as the blur vanished suddenly, as if being sucked back in. It was like the dust was sucked into her body again, the morphing stopped instantly, the blackness returned to her eyes and to her mind. The demon roared inside the girl's body. It curled her tiny hands into tiny fists, but the yell of furious fury that left her lips as it tilted her head back and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, was anything but tiny. It was out if this world, it came straight from hell. "AAAAAGHHHHH!"

"Fuck!" Sam cursed. He had his lit zippo in right hand and a bottle of hairspray in his left. He had found it in his backpack, which he had taken with him, just in case. Sometimes you just had to work with what you had at hands—and one look a the Winchesters' always neatly styled hair proved that even in the business of hunting creatures from hell, you shouldn't let your appearance go there, too—which meant to hell. Setting the demon on fire had seemed like a good idea one minute ago, it was fast and effective with most kinds, but burning a girl who was asking them for help just wasn't an option in the brothers' book.

Sam snapped the lighter shut, killing the flame. He tried to push the immense anger that he welling through him away. They had really fucked this up. An obsessed girl—this possibility really hadn't crossed their minds. Their last run-ins with evil had been so intense, they had distracted them. The brothers had spent the last months seemingly coming closer to the bastard who had killed their mother, they had put all their energy on this—on this, and on fighting with each other. All Sam wanted was getting revenge, he didn't want any of this shit that was just minor demons; this was just slowing him... them down, keeping him... them from reaching his goal. He hadn't even wanted to stop in this shithole of a town to begin with, but Dean had insisted on stopping at this diner to eat something—and Dean just always got his will. And so, of course, they had to stay when the waitress, who Dean had flirted shamelessly with—of fucking course!—had mentioned all these strange happenings. Sam—and he was sure Dean, too—just wanted to be done with this quickly. It had seemed easy; it being a ghost had seemed logical. They had been careless—and now this. This here reminded him suddenly why they were doing this, and why researching sometimes just wasn't a waste of time.

These thoughts rushed through Sam in just a few heartbeats. He couldn't waste any time on dwelling on this, this wasn't helpful and wouldn't get him anywhere. He needed to concentrate on the situation at hands, it was essential that he did, this could be the difference between living and dying for them—and for the girl, of course.

Keeping his eyes on the obsessed female, who had stopped screaming now, but who was now fixating Dean with the pools of pure evil that were her eyes, Sam started to run toward her while yelling, "Exorcism."

Dean was already reaching for the brown filofax that was their dad's diary, which he always carried with him, but the demon possessed incredible speed. Within the blink of an eye, it was directly in front of the older Winchester, the small right hand of the girl closed around his throat, with inhuman strength the girl pulled him toward her. She was so small, Dean's feet barely left the ground, but as comical, as surreal, as it might actually look, it just wasn't funny. Dean's hands, both, flew up to his throat trying to pry her fingers away, which squeezed tightly, digging her nails into his skin. The diary fell to the floor with a "thud" as Dean tried to kick the girl, already getting desperate to get some air into his lunges again.

Sam was still running, and now he ran against the girl, tackling her while reaching for her, ripping her away from his brother. She slid to the ground with the tall man, releasing Dean, who sank down on his knees, snapping for air. "THE BOOK!" Sam yelled and tried to pin the female body down. But she was already on her feet again, and now she—or rather: the it inside her—was coming for him. An evil smirk was playing around her lips; her hair was wavering around her head as she walked with force and speed. Now she reached for him, brought him up, but this time she didn't hold on to him. She threw him away, with ease. She threw him, a grown man, as if he were nothing but a doll. He hit the wall with a crash, denting the rotten, old wall and landed heavily on the ground. His body ached, his muscles screamed, his head hurt.

"HOLY WATER!"

His brother's yelled words made Sam forget his pain instantly. "FUCK!" he cursed.

"Fuck!" Dean joined in, understanding that the important ingredient for a proper exorcism was lacking. And then he cursed again as the demon inside the girl's body suddenly appeared directly in front of him. He was kneeling on the ground, his fingers scanning through the pages of the book in search for the ritualistic words that were needed here, but in his angry shock, he couldn't help but look up, but to place his green eyes on the tiny frame towering above him. And as he lifted his head, he saw that she was morphing again, shifting from the left to the right, the white dust billowing around her. She was fighting the beast inside her again, and he knew that he had to try without draining her in holy water first. She was fighting, so he couldn't give up either.

Hectically, he looked at the book again and skipped through the pages. He heard a two-voiced yell in which the pain of the girl was merging with the agony of the demon, just as he finally found what he was looking for. "_Exorcizamus te," _he read._ "__Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas."_ His voice was strong and loud, but turned louder with each word he said. He was shouting over the combined cries of the girl and the demon, who were still drifting into each other and away from each other, as if they were pulling each other in and off again. _"Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."_ The cries managed to increase, the girl's turning so hurtfully shrill in the boys' ears that Dean had to force himself to not look at her, to not stop reading, but to finish this and put the bastard away from and out of her and back to where it belonged to. _"In nomine et virtute Domini Nostri Jesu. Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis!"_

Reading the last words, Dean glanced up. And he as well as the onlooking Sam saw the girl covered in black dust, which turned red in this instant, and then, for just a few moments, it looked like fire flickering around the girl. Dean even thought he felt its heat on his skin, being so close to her. But then a sudden flash of light jolted out of the girl, causing both boys to avert their eyes, but it only lasted half a second, and then it was all over. Fire, light, dust and demon were gone. Silence followed this, a soundless void so quiet that it seemed deafening. But it only lasted a few seconds, before the girl's legs gave in. Her body turned limp as seemingly all energy and all life left her. She crumbled toward the floor, but Dean, quickly, reached for her, catching her before she hit the ground.

Immediately, he brought his finger to her neck and checked her pulse. "Is she okay?" asked Sam as he walked to where his brother sat on the floor, the brunette in his arms.

Dean felt a soft, steady beating under his fingertips and nodded, "Still alive."

"That was-"

Dean nodded, again. "Yeah."

"She fought the demon out of her body. I never heard of a human being able to do that."

"Because they can't."

"But she did."

"That's what worries me."

Sam kneeled down next to his brother, and patted the pockets of the girl's jeans. She looked so normal suddenly, not like somebody who had just fought evil and death and won. He would never get used to this, to the normality following the absurd craziness that was his "job".

"No papers," he informed his brother, who nodded. Sam straightened up again. "What now?"

_A/N: Hey, I'n new to this community, so I hope I met the rules with this. I must admit that I'm also knew to Supernatural. I only just started with the first season and I'm just a few episodes down... But, somehow, I'm inspired already. So, I don't know what might happen in later seasons, I'm just making up my own episodes, somehow. I hope you like this so far. A comment on this, good or bad, would help me a lot, since I'm just beginning to write..._


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